A very angry impulse moved me before she spoke.
"Daisy!" — she said, laughing, in a loud whisper, — "come,
wake up! You're not asleep, you know. Wake up and tell us; —
everybody knows _you_ know; — what _is_ Christian grace? Daisy! —"
She shook me a little.
"If you knew, you would not ask me," — I said in great
displeasure. But a delighted shout from all my room-mates
answered this unlucky speech, which I had been too excited to
make logical.
"Capital!" cried St. Clair. "That's just it — we _don't_ know;
and we only want to find out whether she a does. Make her
tell, Lansing — prick a little pin into her — that will bring
it out."
I was struggling between anger and sorrow, feeling very hurt,
and at the same time determined not to cry. I kept absolutely
still, fighting the fight of silence with myself. Then
Lansing, in a fit of thoughtless mischief, finding her shakes
and questions vain, actually put in practice St. Clair's
suggestion and attacked me with a pin from the dressing table.
The first prick of it overthrew the last remnant of my
patience.
Pages:
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397